


Dig In And Release

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Bruises, First Time, M/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray has a tendency to play with his bruises when he's antsy, and it's making Fraser absolutely <em>nuts</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dig In And Release

Ray is a kinetic force of nature, constantly twitching or fidgeting or moving in some way. It's been worse lately, though Fraser can't think of any particular reason why--Ray's just been, for want of a better word, squirmy.

Fraser doesn't put it all together right away; the way Ray rubs at a spot just above his left knee for a few days is odd, but it could be anything. An itch, a loose thread on his jeans, something Fraser just can't see--he considers a variety of options.

And then one day the puzzle gets that last oddly-shaped piece, and Fraser sees what's really sitting in front of him for the first time. Fraser watches while Ray digs his fingers into a spot on his left shoulder, a spot that took a particularly hard hit from a suspect they were pursuing two days ago. Ray's fingertips dig in and release, dig in and release, dig in and...

Diefenbaker barks out loud, and Fraser realizes he stopped breathing several seconds ago and can't possibly do it normally now.

"I need to walk Diefenbaker," he blurts out. Ray looks at him oddly, but if Fraser doesn't get up now, leave _right now_, he's going to--well, he won't be able to stand up for a while, at least. He grabs his hat off the coat rack and gestures to Diefenbaker, and then he's moving, getting away from Ray and his bruise, trying very, very hard not to think about it while Diefenbaker snorts at him and makes several less-than-charitable remarks.

* * *

Ray's doing it again. The bruise on the side of Ray's neck is still vivid, dark purple with red around the edges, and Ray seems unable to keep his fingers off it.

Fraser remembers how Ray got that bruise, how Micheline had swung the iron bar around and just missed hitting Ray squarely in the side of the head. He remembers how Ray had waved off medical attention, not even letting Fraser find him ice afterwards.

"I'm fine," he said, but he was rubbing at his neck, the spot already darkening, and Fraser's urge to inspect that patch of skin had had very little to do with wanting to make certain it healed properly.

Since then, it's been a constant presence that Ray seems aware of only on a subconscious level--he doesn't even seem to notice what he's doing. He's reading reports and writing notes in the margins, and every so often his hand goes reaching up to his neck and he pokes at the mark, shifting a little bit in his seat as he does.

Fraser can't understand how no one else has noticed this. How is it just him, watching Ray, when Ray's bruise is the only thing Fraser can think about? But no one else is paying attention: no one else is watching the pressure Ray uses, how it's not just a light touch but an actual rubbing press, a motion that clearly hurts. No one else is watching the way his hips shift, the way he moves his legs apart to get more comfortable. It has occurred to Fraser that this might all be in his mind, that Ray's really just bored with the reports, that it's no more meaningful than tapping his foot or bouncing a pencil against his knee.

Fraser has asked Ray to stop both those things in the past, but right now he'd gladly tolerate either of them if Ray would only _stop touching that bruise_.

"Ray?"

Ray glances up. "Yeah?"

His arm drops to his side, finally, _thank God_. "Nothing," Fraser says. "Carry on."

Ray shrugs, and it's nearly two and a half minutes before he starts touching his bruise again.

* * *

Over dinner, Fraser can barely stand it. Ray presses on his bruise as they look over their menus, as they wait to place an order, between the time when their order goes in and their food arrives. Ray squirms in his seat here, too, but here they're seated closely enough that Ray's knee bumps into Fraser's several times.

Thank God for the red uniform, thank _God_, because the trousers are loose enough and the tunic is heavy enough that Fraser's erection won't be obvious when he gets up. There's no hope that it might go down before they leave, but at least it won't be completely obvious to everyone in the diner: _My name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and I am violently aroused by my partner's nervous habit of playing with his bruises._

When it's time to pay the bill, Ray raises his eyebrows and leans forward. "Hey," he murmurs. "You know, you can go for it if you wanna. It's okay with me."

"What?"

"The waitress. Annie." Ray tilts his head in her direction, and sure enough, she's looking at Fraser, smiling at him. "You been distracted all night--" and he leans closer and lowers his voice, and now he's so close Fraser can see his bruise in vivid, mottled detail, the way it's darkest in the center, red as it gets further from the point of impact. "And you want the truth, you look like you need to get laid."

Fraser jerks back, knee banging against the underside of the table. Obvious--of course it's obvious, Ray's a detective, a good one, he can probably smell the need coming off Fraser in waves.

But he thinks it has something to do with the waitress. Fraser forces himself to look at her, to pretend as though he's considering it, and the only thing that's real is his eventual look of regretful resignation.

"I'm afraid that isn't a good idea," he tells Ray, and if Fraser didn't know better, he'd think Ray seemed--something. Relieved.

"You want a ride home, then?"

"Yes, I would, Ray, thank you kindly."

* * *

The Consulate is empty except for Fraser and Diefenbaker, and since Diefenbaker is long past the point of being scandalized by Fraser's occasional need to take care of certain physical impulses, Fraser starts pulling off pieces of his uniform as soon as he gets inside. He's got his lanyard and his Sam Browne off by the time he's halfway to his office; he's got his tunic unbuttoned by the time he actually makes it inside. He pauses with his hand on the door, looking down at Diefenbaker.

"In or out, but this door is closing now."

Diefenbaker snorts.

"That's easy for you to say. Your species thinks nothing of greeting one another by putting your muzzles in intimate places. It's a bit more complicated for me."

Diefenbaker turns his nose up and goes loping down the hall; Fraser shuts the door and drops his uniform pieces on his desk, shrugging out of his tunic as well. It doesn't take long to remove the rest, and Fraser stretches out on his cot, knees up and parted, smear of precome leaving a damp spot on his stomach.

_You know, you can go for it if you wanna. It's okay with me._ If Ray had meant what Fraser thought he meant at first, Fraser wouldn't wait to get to a bed. He'd kick the door closed behind him and then grab Ray and whirl him around, shove him into the door and watch Ray's eyes go wide with surprise and arousal and--fuck it, it's his fantasy, it's his hand on his cock, he can imagine it this way if he wants--maybe just a little fear. When Ray wants something, when he needs something but there's just a little fear underlying it, Ray can be dangerous, he can be violent, he can bite right back when someone snaps at him.

But Fraser has all the advantage, and he knows what his goal is: he leans in and licks Ray's bruise, and when Ray's body surges up against his, he slams Ray into the door again, pinning him there. Ray reaches up, one arm going around Fraser's waist, the other coming up to sink his fingers into Fraser's hair. _Do it,_ Ray pants. _Do it do it do it..._

So Fraser does: he bites Ray's bruise, listens as Ray moans for him, feels Ray's hands clutching at his body. Ray squirms for him, pleads with him, and Fraser falls deep into the fantasy as his hand moves faster and faster on his cock, his hips tightening as he gets close.

"Ray--!"

The force of his orgasm almost blinds Fraser for a few seconds, but then he's back--back in his body, back in his office, alone and naked and sweating and filthy.

He slides his fingers through the sticky mess on his stomach and licks up a few drops, imagining what Ray's come would taste like. Not like this, he knows, but it's the best he can hope for, really.

* * *

The next morning Ray's wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, which is unusual for him this time of year. It's not quite October; the long-sleeved shirts shouldn't be coming for another few weeks.

It doesn't make sense until Ray stretches out an arm, reaching for a file, and Fraser sees the brand-new bruises on Ray's wrist.

They're faint, just red and not purple, but they're very present--a slightly darker smudge on the inside of Ray's wrist, four light red stripes on the outside. It's a handprint, and Ray's trying to cover it. Is there one on the other wrist, too? Is Ray bruised anywhere else?

Diefenbaker bites at the side of Fraser's pants and tugs, not very gently. "Oh, shut up, I am not," he whispers, but he wipes his chin anyway. "Dry, thank you--"

"Huh?" Ray sounds puzzled, and when Fraser looks up at him, he's tugged his sleeve down to cover his wrist again.

Fraser sighs. "Nothing," he says, and he ignores the way Diefenbaker snorts at him.

* * *

There's a tiny metallic snapping noise, and Fraser has a fraction of a second to react. It's just enough time to knock Ray flat, to cover Ray's body with his own, and then the bomb detonates, force of the explosion knocking Fraser's hat off.

His ears are still ringing from the explosion several seconds later, when Ray shifts underneath him--_underneath him_, Fraser's whole body pressed to Ray's lean frame, his chest on Ray's back, his legs on Ray's legs, his groin--

He makes it to his feet just in time, pulling away before it can truly be apparent, before (_please God before_) Ray can even notice. He's still hard, still staring at Ray and knowing, now, just how Ray's body would feel beneath his, but maybe he can just babble about Inuit bomb-detection techniques and pray Ray doesn't think anything's odd about it.

Ray peels himself off the ground and groans. "Thanks," he says, reaching up and rubbing a spot just above his right elbow.

Fraser goes very still, replaying it. The noise. Grabbing Ray and slamming him down to the floor, spreading himself on top of Ray and--

\--grabbing Ray by the arm, slamming him to the--

\--grabbing Ray by the upper arm, fingers tight, needing to get Ray flat before--

"Are you all right?" Fraser asks.

Ray stops rubbing his arm and nods. "Yeah, but _shit_, we gotta get a bomb squad and an evidence team in here right now."

"Yes," Fraser agrees, dusting his hands off on the front of his uniform before his palms can start sweating. "Do you have your phone with you? I expect if there was one in here to begin with, it won't be in working condition after that."

"We're lucky to be in working condition ourselves," Ray agrees. His hand goes back to the spot on his upper arm, rubbing, rubbing fairly hard. "Phone's in the car."

"You go ahead, then," Fraser says quickly. "I'll stay here and look for the trigger."

"You kidding? There could be more bombs. Come on."

Faced with logic like that, Fraser's forced to go along with Ray, heading outside the house and standing a safe distance back while Ray gets his phone out of the car and calls in to the station. He stands guard outside the house much like he'd stand guard outside the Consulate, hands behind his back, resolutely not reacting to any of a number of outside stimuli.

Ray twisting and stretching, tilting his head from one side to the other and rubbing at his neck.

Ray running his fingers through his hair and exhaling harshly, rocking back on his heels as he looks around, checks for traffic coming down the block. (There's no traffic. There's no one else here; this block is largely abandoned and the house in question probably hasn't had anyone in it for a week or two. There's no one out here; there's likely no one around for miles.)

Ray reaching up to touch that spot just above his right elbow, fingertips digging in over and over and over again.

Ray leaning up against the GTO, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed over his chest, fingertips going _tap tap tap_ against the place Fraser grabbed him when he needed to drag Ray down to the floor; the long line of Ray's legs, the tight, soft, faded blue denim of his jeans, the curve and swell of--

\--_tap tap tap_ against that spot, where Ray's going to have bruises later--

The sirens are such a relief Fraser almost sags; the only thing preventing it is his stiff collar, which might decapitate him if his posture were anything but perfect. He's been wearing the red serge more often than is strictly necessary lately, all because it covers more, because it _is_ more uncomfortable, because if he could move and feel and breathe without restriction, he'd--

The police cars and bomb squad van arrive before Fraser's thoughts can go any further, and giving a full report on the day's events is exactly what he needs to get his mind off Ray, off Ray's arm, off the feel of Ray's body pinned beneath his own.

* * *

It takes hours to finish relating all the details, to have the bomb squad clear the house. There's not going to be anything else they can do tonight; it'll take days to have the remains of the house fully catalogued and examined for evidence relating to Ray and Fraser's case.

A hand comes down on Fraser's shoulder, and Fraser jumps, looking around behind him. It's Ray, who looks--concerned, Fraser hopes; he doesn't know what else that expression could mean.

"Your uniform's all dusted up in the back," Ray says softly. "You want to go home and change? Maybe get something to eat?"

For once, just once, Ray isn't idly tapping at his imminent bruises, and Fraser's _starved_, he realizes; starved and exhausted and wanting, quite suddenly and quite profoundly, to smell like something other than ashes and chemicals and smoke.

"Yes, thank you," Fraser murmurs. Ray squeezes Fraser's shoulder again and tilts his head back towards the GTO.

"C'mon. You pick, I'll buy. I owe you one."

Fraser gets into the car, that stupid, innocent phrase running through his head like an alarm bell: _I owe you one. I owe you one._

_He doesn't owe you anything near what you're thinking, so for God's sake, stop. Just stop. Now._

The drive back to the Consulate is strangely quiet. Fraser invites Ray in, but Ray shakes him off. "I'm all right," he says. "Take your time. Get a shower if you want. I'll be here when you get back."

"Thank you," Fraser says, and he walks into the Consulate, dodging Constable Turnbull and ignoring Diefenbaker's amused look and sarcastic growls.

"You could have a little sympathy," Fraser mutters at Diefenbaker, gathering up his towel and his shower supplies. "I did just survive an explosion--no, I don't think the number of explosions I survive on a monthly basis should have a bearing on that argument. And how do you know it wasn't much of an explosion? You weren't even there!"

He takes a fast, hot shower, changes into jeans and an undershirt and a blue Henley, and he slips into his leather jacket, hand on his Stetson before noticing all the soot on it. He sighs, and when Diefenbaker flips his tail in Fraser's direction, he narrows his eyes.

"I don't recall inviting you to dinner anyway," Fraser says, "and I'll be home in a few hours, as you well know. There's no need for you to tell me you won't wait up."

He leaves the Stetson behind and heads back out to the street, coming to a stumbling halt when he sees Ray. Ray's got his head tilted back on the headrest, eyes closed, lips parted, arms crossed over his chest again. He's stroking that spot on his upper arm, and Fraser stands there for a moment, paralyzed, tempted to turn on his heel and go back inside and find a way to apologize later.

But Ray looks over just as Fraser's picking up one foot to step away, and he leans across the passenger seat and shoves the door open.

"Hey," Ray says. "You figured out what you want to eat?"

"Yes," Fraser says, without thinking, and when Ray looks at him with raised eyebrows, he shakes his head. "No. I don't care."

"Fraser--" Ray reaches out, then pauses as if thinking better of it. "Listen, about today."

Fraser waits, but when there's no sign Ray plans to finish that sentence, he raises his eyebrows. "About today?"

"I just--thank you. For saving my ass." Ray makes a face--it's like a smile, it's almost a smile, but Fraser can tell the difference between a smile Ray means and one that's just there because it's supposed to be. This one is the latter. "And thanks for not getting your ass blown away in the process, because I don't know what I'd do if--"

He stops again and looks out the window, chewing on his thumbnail, and finally he stops and shakes his head.

"I feel like pizza. Is pizza all right with you?"

"It's fine, Ray," Fraser says quietly, and Ray nods, easing the car into traffic and heading in the general direction of dinner.

* * *

When Fraser gets home, Diefenbaker takes one look at him and rolls his eyes. He follows Fraser into his office, then turns in a circle on the floor, drops onto his hindquarters, and starts licking his own groin.

"What was I supposed to say?" Fraser asks. Diefenbaker looks up, and Fraser repeats it, enunciating very clearly for Diefenbaker's benefit. "What was I supposed to _say_? I don't even know what he was trying to tell me--"

Diefenbaker comes to his feet and shakes himself out. He walks over to Fraser and puts his head on Fraser's knee.

It's too much, somehow; unexpected kindness when Fraser was expecting another reprimand for being a liar and a coward and a fraud. Fraser sinks his hands into Diefenbaker's fur and closes his eyes, and Diefenbaker nuzzles at his hands, whimpering softly and licking Fraser's fingers.

* * *

Fraser walks out of the Consulate to find Ray waiting for him, leaning up against his car, arms crossed over his chest. He's tapping his fingers against his arm, which would look impatient if Fraser didn't know where he was touching himself.

_I can't do this_, he thinks, and he's a hair's breadth away from faking a coughing fit and claiming to be sick when Diefenbaker barks at him.

He looks down and glares, but Dief stands his ground and snarls right back. Ray steps forward and reaches out to Diefenbaker, who immediately licks Ray's hand.

"What's up with him?"

"I believe he's commenting on my work ethic."

Ray laughs. "Yeah, I'm not looking forward to the paperwork from yesterday, either. We got hours of it."

Hours of paperwork, with Ray touching and rubbing bruises Fraser left on his skin. Dear _God_.

"You all right there, buddy?" Ray grabs Fraser by the arm; Fraser's fairly certain he wasn't going to pass out, but he might have--swayed. "You're looking kinda pale."

"I'm fine--"

Diefenbaker growls and barks again, and Ray frowns. "You piss off the wolf or something?" He lets go of Fraser and kneels down next to Diefenbaker, who puts both front paws on Ray's shoulders and licks Ray's ear enthusiastically. "Okay, _okay_, calm down, calm _down_, boy--" Ray ruffles Diefenbaker's fur and stands up again. "Well, he's not mad at me--what'd you do?"

"Nothing," Fraser says, and Diefenbaker barks _again_. "Yes, I _know_ it's the God's-honest truth, will you _please_\--" Fraser sighs and glances up at Ray. "I don't think he's in any condition to work today. Would you give me a moment?"

"Yeah, okay, fine," Ray says, frowning.

Fraser snaps his fingers at Diefenbaker and leads him back into the Consulate. He's actually surprised when Diefenbaker follows, but follow he does. Fraser points at the staircase. "Go upstairs, take a nap, lick yourself, whatever it is you need to do to calm down. I'm sorry I was so maudlin last night, but it really can't be helped--"

Diefenbaker thrusts his nose directly into Fraser's crotch, and Fraser grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him away. "Go. Upstairs. Now."

Out of arguments, Diefenbaker heads up the stairs, pausing at the landing to look back down at Fraser. Fraser sighs and drops his head into his hand. It could be worse, he supposes; he could be getting advice from his father.

"What the hell was that all about?" Ray asks. He heads around to his side of the car, and once he and Fraser are both inside, he gets the car started and slings his arm over the back of Fraser's seat so he can put the car in reverse.

It's a perfectly normal move, it's something Ray's done dozens if not hundreds of times before, but this time Fraser turns his head and looks directly at the handprint he left on Ray's arm yesterday, and he has to close his eyes. "_Fuck._"

The car slams to a halt, and Fraser's seatbelt catches hard enough to nearly knock the wind out of him.

"Okay, stop right there, do _not_ tell me 'nothing', because you are _Benton Fraser_ and I have never _once_ heard you say 'fuck' out loud."

"Ray--"

"Dief's snarling at you and licking me like I've got Cheetos in my ears, you looked like the idea of paperwork made you want to shoot yourself in the head, which, believe me, I get, but it is not you, Fraser, you actually _like_ paperwork--"

"_Ray_\--"

"--and you've been jumpy the last couple days if I touch you, and I thought maybe it was me, like maybe I smelled bad or something, but I took a shower this morning, I swear to God, so what the hell--"

"It isn't you," Fraser says, finally managing to break in. "It isn't--you haven't done anything."

"I picked that up from Dief," Ray fires back. "I didn't do something, so--what? You did something? What did you do? What the hell did _you_ do that made you say 'fuck' out loud the minute I put the car in reverse? You got an aversion to going backwards or something? You swear a religious vow that says 'I will not ride backwards in a car with Ray Kowalski'?"

"Don't be absurd, Ray--"

"Oh, don't you tell me I'm being absurd. No no no--you do not send Dief back to the Consulate for bad behavior, which he's not on, by the way, except when it comes to you, and then tell _me_ I'm being absurd." Some of the wind goes out of Ray's sails, and he drops back into his seat, looking at the steering wheel and reaching out for it with both hands. "You gotta--you can't _do_ this to me, Fraser, you can't just have something be wrong and not _tell_ me what's wrong, you--" His left hand comes off the steering wheel, and Fraser knows what he's going to do before he does it, knows what he's going to do when Ray probably doesn't. But Ray touches Fraser's marks, pushes his fingers into Fraser's bruises, and Fraser snaps his seatbelt off, turns to face Ray, and grabs Ray by the wrist.

It gets Ray's full attention; it makes Ray's eyes go so wide they nearly bulge. "Jesus, Fraser," Ray breathes. "What the hell--"

"Please," Fraser whispers. "I can't take any more of that."

"Can't take any more of _wha--_"

Ray looks down at his hand, at Fraser's hand on his wrist, at his right arm stretched out in front of him and bruised, and he turns stunned eyes back on Fraser.

"I'll go," Fraser says, and he has a hand on the door handle to do it when Ray grabs him by the Sam Browne and yanks him back into his seat.

"Oh, the _hell_ you will."

"Ray, for God's sake, please, I can't--"

"Give me your hand."

Fraser blinks at him. "What? Why?"

"You trust me or not? Give me your fucking _hand_."

Warily, Fraser holds out his hand, and Ray grabs onto it with his left hand and then slaps his right arm against Fraser's palm, covering his bruises with Fraser's fingers. Fraser groans out loud, and Ray nods like he's confirming something, and Fraser sits there and shakes and stares at his hand on Ray's arm, his fingers layered against Ray's bruises.

"We're not doing this here," Ray says grimly. "Put your seat belt back on."

It takes him three tries to manage it, but he finally does, and the instant he's belted in again, Ray takes off down the block, leaving rubber on the pavement as he goes.

* * *

They make it to Ray's apartment without saying another word to each other; Fraser keeps his hands in his lap and tries to watch the road. Ray's driving too fast, performing rolling stops at every stop sign, but this once Fraser doesn't say anything about it.

At Ray's apartment, Ray barrels up the stairs, and Fraser follows him, taking the stairs two at a time himself. Ray unlocks the door and pushes Fraser inside ahead of him, and when he's kicked the door shut again, he drops his keys on the floor, pulls his badge off over his head, and takes off his shirt.

The bruise on his right arm isn't the only mark on him; there's one on his chest, maybe from where he hit the ground. He turns around; there are a few on his back, too, and Fraser shouldn't be surprised, it isn't as though he had time to be careful, but--_him_. All these bruises come from him. And Ray wants Fraser to see them.

"Tell me what you want," Ray says, turning back around. "What do you want, Fraser?"

Fraser's mouth is dry, and swallowing doesn't help. What does he want? What _doesn't_ he want?

"You want to touch them?" Ray lifts his chin, defiant and proud and bruised and beautiful, God, beautiful enough to make Fraser's heart ache. "No, what am I thinking--this is _you_ we're talking about. You never met something you didn't want to put your mouth on. You want to lick them?"

He's going to die. He's going to die of shame and need, right here in Ray's apartment; the coroner's report will read something like _massive coronary in otherwise healthy man of thirty-eight_, or possibly _died due to lack of blood flow to important areas such as the head, the lungs, and anywhere else that isn't a sexual organ_.

"Licking isn't enough? You want to bite, maybe? Or rub yourself off on 'em?"

"Ray, please--God, _why_\--"

"Because I'm not fucking afraid of you!" Ray yells at him, spreading his arms out to his sides. "I been begging for it rough since I was a goddamned _teenager_, Fraser--you think I'm gonna freak out because you like how bruises look on me?"

There's a part of Fraser that's always wondered what would happen if Ray pushed him too far, what that last step over the edge would feel like, what Ray could possibly say to him to make him fall--and now he knows. He grabs Ray by the arms and shoves him back into the door, and Ray grunts, but it doesn't stop Fraser--Fraser's not sure anything could stop him now. He puts his hand on the marks he left on Ray's arm (_my bruises_) and gets his other hand into Ray's hair (_mine_) and brings his mouth down hard against Ray's (_mine, mine, mine_).

Ray reaches out and jerks Fraser forward, pulls him further in. Fraser gasps against Ray's mouth, and Ray growls out, "_Yeah_\--Jesus, _finally_, what _took_ you so fuckin' long--"

"I didn't know," Fraser pants, but that's all the breath he can spare for words; he needs to kiss Ray again, needs to feel Ray's mouth opening for him, needs Ray's insistent, demanding tongue sliding against his. He gets all of it--Ray's mouth, warm and rough against his own, the flavor of Ray's morning coffee, Ray's hands clutching at his body and trying to get _more_.

"--killing me," Ray moans, "fucking _killing_ me, Fraser, just--hurt me, _fuck_ me, put your fucking hands on me--"

Fraser pulls away; clothes, he's wearing too many clothes, he's going to scrape Ray raw with his leather and his buttons and his red serge. Ray makes a disgruntled sound of protest and follows Fraser as Fraser backs off, until Fraser has no choice but to put his hands back on Ray's arms and shove Ray into the door all over again. Ray hits the door with a bang and stays put, eyes bright with lust and need, and when Fraser starts rapidly stripping off the pieces of his uniform, he breathes out, "_Yeah_\--oh, fuck, yeah, Frase, show me, show me what you've got under there."

"Why don't _you_," Fraser answers, and Ray laughs, kicking his boots off and unbuttoning his jeans. By the time Fraser's stripped bare, so is Ray, and it should feel awkward--Fraser has never felt anything but awkward when someone's seen him naked this way--but Ray's expression is so full of hunger and excitement and lust that Fraser just wants to find the nearest available horizontal surface and make Ray live up to every promise he and his body are making right now.

"Bed?" Fraser asks.

"Couch, floor, wall, like I give a shit," Ray says. He licks his lips. Fraser's about to take him at his word and push him into the door for a third time when Ray shakes his head. "No, you're right--you're right, first time, it oughta be in a bed. C'mon."

Ray's bed isn't made, and it already smells like sex, which gives Fraser pause for half a second. He takes another deep breath, though, and no, there's just one scent here, just Ray, which means--he looks at Ray and blinks.

"Sheets aren't that old, Fraser, I promise."

"No, but--" Fraser looks Ray over again, looks at all the places he's never been allowed to look before, looks at Ray's cock, thick and dark and angled slightly to Ray's right. "Was it because of me?"

"Was what--" Ray frowns, and then he gets it, lips sliding into a smirk. "You wanna know if I jerk off thinking about you?"

"No--yes--I don't--" Fraser takes a deep breath and puts his thoughts into something resembling order. "Last night? This morning? After I..." Fraser walks up to Ray and wraps his fingers around Ray's arm, strokes them over Ray's bruises. "After this?"

"Fuck," Ray moans. He grabs for Fraser's other hand and pulls it between his legs, puts Fraser's hand on his cock. Fraser moans, too, stroking and squeezing and _touching_, touching in a way he'd never imagined having permission to do.

"Tell me," Fraser whispers, and Ray bites his lower lip and nods. "Last night?" Ray nods again. "This morning?" Again. "Thinking of me?"

"It wasn't just last night and this morning," Ray says, thrusting his hips forward, pushing his cock harder into Fraser's hand. "C'mon, Fraser, I'm dying, I'm _dying_ here--"

"Do you have condoms?"

"Drawer," Ray says, nodding down at it.

Fraser yanks the drawer open and pulls out a strip of condoms, quickly checking the expiration date before tearing one of the condoms off. "These expire in two months--"

"So we better fuck a _lot_," Ray retorts. He climbs onto the bed, face-down, spreading his legs wide. "Or next time you bring your own, whatever--are we done inspecting the goods now? You gonna do something with that hard-on, or are we going for a matched set of blue balls here?"

Fraser actually finds himself laughing; of all the times he's fantasized about sex with Ray, this part of it hadn't occurred to him. Ray's impatience and humor and sarcasm can all be frustrating at times, but right now it just reminds Fraser that this is _Ray_\--stubborn, tough, inelegant, loyal, eager Ray, who's been _begging for it rough since he was a teenager_.

The laugh ends abruptly, and Fraser reaches back into the drawer for lube. He climbs into bed with Ray--climbs into bed _on_ Ray--and Ray just groans and spreads his legs wider.

"You look--God, Ray," Fraser murmurs. He rolls the condom on, hands trembling--this is Ray in front of him, spread out and wanting him, and Ray even knows _why_ and he's _still here_.

"Don't slow down," Ray murmurs, but Fraser's got his fingers slick now, and he has no intention of keeping either of them waiting. He has another flashback to what Ray said earlier--_begging for it rough since I was a goddamned teenager_\--and he drives in hard with all three slick fingers, and Ray just opens for him and shoves back against his hand.

"_Shit_, yeah," Ray pants. "Do it, just do it, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me--"

Fraser pulls his hand back, and he forces Ray's legs apart just a little further, and then--then-- "_Fuck_," Fraser groans, sinking in deep and fast, feeling Ray clench tight around him.

"Hell, yes," Ray laughs, but he's not laughing for long. Fraser starts moving, starts thrusting in fast and rough--_begging for it rough since I was a goddamned teenager_, Fraser thinks, the phrase burned into his thoughts; he doesn't have to hold back.

But it's not enough for Ray; Ray starts groaning, pushing back, straining to get more. Fraser grabs hold of Ray's hips and gets a good, tight grip on them, and Ray nods hard, squirming in Fraser's hands.

"C'mon, c'mon, yeah--tighter, c'mon, fucking _mark_ me--"

"How--" Fraser has to stop and gasp for breath. "Where?" he manages, and Ray shudders underneath him. He reaches back and covers Fraser's left hand with his, squeezing, and Fraser echoes the motion, squeezing Ray's hip hard, gripping the thin skin over Ray's hipbone as he draws Ray back into his thrusts. He knows this sort of grip _can_ leave bruises, he's carried home bruises of his own before, but he's never--not on _purpose_, not for someone who's moaning and writhing and shoving back against him, fingers clamped down over Fraser's as if he's not going to _let_ Fraser stop until he's got all the bruises he wants.

Fraser keeps holding on with his left hand, keeps pulling Ray back into his thrusts, but the bruises on Ray's right arm are there in front of him, red and purple and _all his_, and Fraser finally can't resist anymore; he leans forward, reaching out, fingertips just brushing against Ray's right arm--damn it, he can't reach--

But Ray gets it; Ray understand where Fraser's going, and he leans down heavy on his left arm and puts his right arm behind his back, as if he's getting into position to be cuffed. The mental image of _that_ makes Fraser stop cold for a few seconds, but then he realizes what's going on: Ray's offering that bruise up, offering to let Fraser touch all he wants, and when Fraser puts his hand over Ray's bruises, when Fraser _squeezes_, Ray and Fraser end up groaning in near-unison.

"Fuck hell yes _gimme_ Fraser _yes please_," Ray babbles out, and Fraser gasps, too, so close he can almost taste it.

"Can you--" Fraser pants. "Can you--like this--"

"Little harder," Ray grunts. "Just--just fuckin' _go for it_\--"

Harder--Christ, all this and Ray wants _harder_. Fraser holds on tight and _goes_, hips and back and thighs burning, slamming into Ray hard enough that Ray starts crying out every time, and when Ray throws his head back and screams, Fraser's there with him--over and past that edge, soaring, coming so hard his vision goes dim and his whole body ends up trembling.

He collapses right on top of Ray, letting Ray's arm go so it doesn't end up trapped between them. Ray grunts as Fraser squeezes the breath out of him, but he doesn't complain about the weight. Just as well; Fraser doesn't know if he'll be able to move for hours. He bites gently at the back of Ray's neck, remembering all the bruises he's watched Ray playing with over the years.

"Mmm," Ray murmurs. He reaches back and strokes his hand down Fraser's hip. "Hope you left a mark or two."

Fraser bites down a little harder and settles his own hand on Ray's hip, just above where he's been squeezing. "If I didn't," he whispers, "I'm willing to try again."

* * *

Ray's chewing on the end of his pencil, but his left hand's busy on his shoulder, sort of scratching and pressing through the fabric. A few light scratches with his fingernails; a longer rubbing motion with his thumb.

Fraser glances up at him over his paperwork, and after a while, Ray looks up and meets Fraser's eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing," Fraser says. On the floor next to him, Diefenbaker snorts and goes back to chewing on his unopened package of Funyuns; Fraser doesn't know where he got them and certainly isn't going to aid and abet this particular instance of snack food consumption.

"Nothing, huh?" Ray smirks and reaches into his collar, fingers pressing down good and hard.

"Nothing you won't pay for later," Fraser murmurs, and when Ray shifts in his seat, Fraser turns his eyes back to his paperwork, grinning.

_-end-_


End file.
